The Rock-a-Bye Baby Affair
by Rose Burkette
Summary: Napoleon needs a nanny: Illya plays house


The Rock-a-bye Baby Affair  
By Rose Burkette  
  
Napoleon needs a nanny; Illya plays house  
  
Act I A Theory of Relativity  
  
  
The Russian swore softly and threw his pen acorss the room, just as the office door opened.  
  
"Cease fire! Rule One: Do not impale your partner."  
  
"Forgive me, Napoleon," he apologized at once. "I'm buried under three weeks of paperwork and--"  
  
"Here's mine, too," the senior partner dropped more files onto the manilla tower. "I just got that   
  
DUC assignment-- no time to file my last reports, and it is the end of the month, yknow. Be a good chap   
  
and sign off for me?"  
  
"And when exactly am I supposed to do that?" the blond agent griped. "I can't work at home--can'  
  
t even sleep. Damned city--progress--renovations. I don't remember the Soviets ever fixing anything, " he   
  
glowered. "and no privacy here--"  
  
Napoleon's eyebrows arched inquisitively. He knew HQS staff gave a wide range to his partner,  
  
whose reputation for aloofness kept him above most normal office interaction.  
  
"It's that new little clerk in section 5--"  
  
"Ah, the breasty redhead, wears Shalimar?"  
  
Illya growled. "I should have known you've been close enough to sniff her. I swear she's been   
  
stalking me: everywhere I go--the lab, the library, the lavatory--"  
  
"Oh, so she hasn't been briefed on your reputation as the Lone Russian Wolf?"  
  
"Apparently not. Or she is extraordinarily determined. It's embarassing, distracting."  
  
Solo could not mask his grin at his shy partner's discomfiture. "I've got your solution. I'm leaving  
  
in 40 minutes, I'll be gone three or four weeks. Use my apartment."  
  
*****  
  
Illya juggled two gorcery bags and a small valise and fished out the spare key. The door opened   
  
so easily that everything tumbled into the front hall and he nearly tripped. "Perfect ending to a  
  
perfect day," he muttered darkly. He would stack the files in the den and not even look at them  
  
til tomorrow. He was tightly coiled and recognized his need to relax.  
  
Indifferent to supper this early, he selected a jazz CD (playtime 27 minutes,43 seconds--  
  
even in his downtime, he was precise and disciplined) removed his shoes and settled across Solo's   
  
sofa, drawing deep, measured breaths.  
  
But beneath the music he could still feel it: a scuffling outside the door, a shadow  
  
Quiet as a cat he stepped beside the door and unholstered his UNCLE special. The shadow flick-  
  
ered and withdrew. He crouched low and flung open the door--or tried to. Sonething was blocking  
  
his action.: a package on the door step. Illya examined the contents quickly for boobytraps and  
  
when the high-pitched squealing alarm went off, hauled it inside, double-bolting Solo's door.  
  
He scanned the accompanying note,clicked his tongue. "Napoleon, Napoleon, it looks  
  
like your chick s have come home to roost."  
  
The baby was bawling.  
  
  
Act II "Goo-Goo Gai Pan?"  
  
  
  
His new roomate had not stopped crying. Illya had to fielda polite but firm phone call from the   
  
concierege about the racket disturbing the other tenants.   
  
A good agent knows his limitations, knows when to call for reinforcements. The Dalton Agency's   
  
consultant arrived in 30 minutes, and they were both quickly chagrined.  
  
"Mr. Kuryakin, I have no details regarding the terms of your custody agreement, but surely you   
  
realize your home is woefully unprepared : no crib, no food, no diapers--"  
  
"Please, Miss Carmichael, please--" he held up both palms in surrender. "This is not my home, this   
  
is certainly not my child, but it is very difficult to explain over all this clamor."  
  
Clemency Carmichael picked up the wailing infant who promptly ceased his squalling in her   
  
capable arms.  
  
"He's sopping wet, " she reported accusingly. Digging through the contents of the car seat  
  
carrier, she retrieved three diapers and two cans of formula. "Mix this," she tossed a can to Illya  
  
and he saluted silently.   
  
Soon the child was swaddled and suckled and silent.  
  
"I'm curious," Illya began. "You knew it was a boy--you said 'he's sopping wet' before you even   
  
changed him. How did you know?"  
  
"Experience. He belllows like a male with unmet needs."  
  
Illya tried again. "Look, Miss Carmichael, you deserve an explanaation but I'm afraid I haven't  
  
much of one to offer. I am housesitting for a friend. Junior here arrrived about two hours ago with this  
  
note: "I've had all the expense and embarassment,the puke and the poop. It's your turn now."  
  
"Oh, my," she breathed softly. "But if he's not your resonsibility, why don't you just call the   
  
authorities ?"  
  
"I can't reach my friend--he's incommunicado for at least three weeks--and he deserves to know  
  
about this."  
  
"And..." she probed, searching his eyes for what he left unsaid.  
  
His tone softened her. "I am...was... the product of state child care. I do not reccomend it."  
  
"Well, Mr. Kuryakin, we are in a pickle. The agency told me this was a permanent, live-in position.   
  
I've no where else to go. Dare I hope there is a guest room?"  
  
"Thre's apull-out sofa in the den. Not very comfortable, I'm afraid."  
  
"Your friend does not entertain many guests?"  
  
"Not many that require..uh..alternative accomodations,' he replied delicately.  
  
They both looked at the baby.  
  
"He's a good man, honorable in his fashion. I've got to give him the opportunity to know about   
  
this. Couldn't we just keep things going until he gets back?"  
  
His loyalty overcame her common sense. Her pen flew down the notepad. "Here's the bare   
  
minimum supplies we'll need tonight. Can you pick these up or do you want to watch the baby while I   
  
shop?"  
  
Enforcement agents had access to a personal shopper in unusual circumstances. Illya was trying t  
  
to determine if this was one of them. But weighing the gossip generated by Kuryakin ordering baby   
  
supplies to be delivered to Solo's apartment--it simply was not worth it. He snatched the list from her hand   
  
and scanned it for handwriting. "Goo-goo gai pan?"  
  
"By the time you get back we'll be starved and it'll be too late to cook. Besides, I rather like the im  
  
agery: a Russian bringing home the Chinese for dinner. Sort of a --Summitt Eating?" She gave him a   
  
cockeyed smile.  
  
*****  
  
He returned with the supplies to find the competent Miss C had made a thorough reconnais-  
  
ance of the apartment and had everything under control. "SShh, he's asleep. " She intercepted him at the  
  
door, lightened his burdens, and directed him to follow her to the long bar. "Great...thank you. And bless  
  
you, sweet sustenance.." She set the white cartons on the corner. "I didn't know what you'd want to   
  
drink,"  
  
"Napoleon keeps a fine supply of--"  
  
"Napoleon? That's your friend's name, Napoleon? HHhmm.." she chewed thoughtfully on a chop   
  
stick. "And what is the name of our little charge?"  
  
Illya shrugged. "There was nothing personal on the note."  
  
"Well, he must have a proper name. We can't just call him Baby Hey You."  
  
"Must we christen him tonight?"  
  
"Of course. He needs his own name, to be real to us, to give him an identity. Let's see...Nathaniel,   
  
Gabriel, Paul,Timothy,--sorry, I do tend to get Biblical. Napoleon, eh? Perhaps your friend would prefer a   
  
morehistorical tie...Gregory, Francis, Patrick--you're grinning--" she caught him.  
  
"Just thinking about Napoleon's progeny being named for a saint. Actually, Gabriel does have a   
  
nice ring to it. He certainly made his debut here blowing his own horn."  
  
"To Gabriel Solo." They clinked glasses.  
  
"Now, I think we need to get some sleep. Young master Solo will be hungry in about four hours.   
  
Since there's just the one bed, I suppose the fair and sensible thing to do is share--"  
  
Illya choked on his wine.  
  
"I've made up that sofa bed and we can take turns in the bedroom."  
  
"Certainly. Take turns.. "the Russian sputtered. "Ah, yes, quite sensible."  
  
  
Act III Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers  
  
  
Illya was aware of the faint hum and shadow under the den door for the second night in a row.. He   
  
padded out quietly and found them bathed in the eerie incandescent glow of Solo's TV et. She was curled   
  
over the rocker, her hair a fine brown curtain sheltering the child's face. Her lips rested on his smooth brow  
  
He snapped the set off and touched her gently on the shoulder, so as not to startle her.  
  
"Don't you ever sleep?" he whispered.  
  
"Does he?" she yawned. "Oh, rats. William Powell was just about to reveal the murderer. "  
  
"The full-service nanny did it."  
  
"You watch Insomniac Theater?"  
  
"I just never trust the hired help."  
  
"Oh. Well, my money was on the Russian spy. I never trust foreigners. I hope we didn't disturb you. "  
  
"Actually, I find the entire situation disturbing..uh..it's often difficult to sleep in a strange bed.,"he  
  
amended.  
  
"I know. I've slept in Montreal, St. Maarten, Singapore. Any where there are rich parents who   
  
discover babies require attention."  
  
She craned her neck and crunched her shoulder blades. Napoleon would have massaged her neck   
  
and started in rythmically on her shoulders without further encouragement. Illya merely offered to hold the  
  
baby while she rose to her feet and recovered her balance.  
  
"So, what do you think? " she asked quietly. "I' ve seen you study him. Find any ressemblence?"  
  
Illya returned the baby quickly to her arms. "So far, he emits piercing noises and foul ordors."  
  
"HHhhmmm..." she gazed down at Gabriel and just shook her head."Not very cuddly."  
  
"I thought you were charmed by the child."  
  
"I was not referring to the child."  
  
*****  
  
She knocked at his sanctuary.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I've noticed you're an early riser and appreciate your quiet time. I've also noticed you will work  
  
the whole day through if you're not interrrupted. I have made it my mission to interrupt you on a daily   
  
basis." She set down a tray. "Gabriel and I have been patrolling the neighborhood. We found a Russian   
  
deli around the corner. I just ordered your ususal, to go. "  
  
Illya was distracted by the array of delicacies, then rasied an eyebrow. "What's this?"  
  
"That was my idea, A touch of decadence. " The cookie was as big as his fist. "Oatmeal,  
  
honey,cranberries,walnuts--it's good for you."  
  
"Thank you, that's very thoughtful."  
  
"Mr. K, we are living in an unususal, intimate situation. I think it might not bend our professional   
  
relationship if you would call me Clemency." She offered her hand.  
  
He accepted, and repeated his first name for her.  
  
Illya. She like the taste of it on her tongue. But she cradled his hand just a fraction too long, and  
  
she stepped just a centimeter too close, and Illya's Female Proximity Alarm was blasting off in his brain.  
  
"Illya, could you please give me your clothes now?"  
  
His throat had closed up to sensible speech.   
  
"It's laundry day. I'm doing the baby's things, and mine, and I'll pop your stuff in , too."  
  
"Uh..thank you, Clemency, but really, you have so much to do already..."  
  
" 'Full-service' nanny," she reminded him.  
  
Illya reminded himself that someday sooon he should get a detailled job description from her.  
  
*****  
  
Had it been just ten days since this remarkable pair had come into his life? Illya marvelled.   
  
He had never had the opportunity to witness traditional domestic tranquility , but how easily their lives fell i  
  
into a well-ordered family pattern.  
  
"We need some Life in this place!" Clemency declared, and the stark, stale batchelor pad was op-  
  
ened to sunlight and vanilla, and pots of green,twisty vines. She spent her days singing snd soothing and  
  
scrubbing, mundane tasks becoming holy prayers under her hands.  
  
How had he ever thought of her as plain? Their first meeting was prickly, and his powers of obser-  
  
vation blunted by his need to stop the squalling. But now he saw her hair was not mousy, but soft mink   
  
brown; her eyes not pale but rich gold like maple syrup. She wore little makeup, but her face shone with  
  
kindness and purpose. Her voicewas warm, her laughter genuine, and she needed no glamourous ward-  
  
robe to attract attention.   
  
The Dalton Agency had described her as a 'full-service nanny' But to Illy, she was a revolu-  
  
tionary disguised in an apron.  
  
And he envied the tenderness she lavished on the child.   
  
Every day, early, Illya locked himself in the den to climb Mt. Paperwork.. But her invited himself   
  
along on their mid-morning strolls to the library, the bakery, the park, contending that he needed the ex-  
  
erecise. In the afternooons, their laughter lured him away from the desk, and he found himself roling  
  
on the floor, giving voice to a teddy bear. Clemency and Gabriel were teaching hime the joys of sim-  
  
plicity and contentment.  
  
After the second week, Illya was so unaccustomed to the feelings they evoked, he made an   
  
excuse to go into UNCLE HQS, consciously trying to prove to himself that his enchantment was   
  
merely due to isolation and inactivity. He had coffeee in the commissary, observing the female em-  
  
ployees. Comparing them to Clemency, they were self-centered of heart, shallow of mind, and gilded  
  
of body. Illya was at once proud and humble to know her--and was nearly overcome with the wildly  
  
bourgeoise sitcom notion to Invite the Boss Home for Dinner.   
  
Twilight. The baby was tucked in , and Clemency had settled on one end of the sofa with her   
  
Yeates anthology. Illya was conducting a Rostropovich cello concerto in the air. Their silence was  
  
comfortable, companionable.  
  
So far they had shared nothing more intimate than the laundry. But tonight, Illya was reaching out   
  
for something more.  
  
He leaned over to Clevmency. "What's that fragrance?"  
  
She glanced up at him with he slow, glorious smile. "Baby powder."  
  
"Why does this all seem so perfect?"  
  
"Because there's no pressure. No expectaton of Ever-After."  
  
  
"But is it always this good--family life? I've never had a wife before--"  
  
"You don't have one now," she reminded him pointedly.  
  
"You mean because most wives work outside the home?"  
  
"I mean because this is an artificial situation. We're playing house, you and I. In a few days   
  
your friend will be home, you'll be off on assignment, I'll be rocking a baby in New Orleans. We don't   
  
share that "jump-off-the-cliff-together-into-eternity-holding-onto-each-other-for-dear-life " kind of   
  
committment."  
  
"Oh, that. Yes. Well. Of course. Clemency, why did you become a nanny? You're so well-  
  
educated, creative--"  
  
"That I could do something prestigious, meaningful, well-paid? Since when did caring for babies   
  
become so anti-intellectual? I'm challenged every day to open the whole world for the first time. To teach  
  
trust and security and kindness and humor and wonder. My work touches eternity , one soul at t time--"  
  
"You have such passion for your work, but it's always other people's houses, other people's   
  
children. Don't you ever want to , well, wheel your own baby buggy?"  
  
She looked him straight in the eye. "No one has asked me. Yet. " There was a long pause. "And   
  
that, Mr. Kuryakin, is your cue to beat a discrete retreat behind your den door. Sweet dreams, Illya, "she  
  
called after him, softly.  
  
  
  
Act IV "Baby, the Rain Must Fall..."  
  
  
  
It had happened so quickly. Now Illya was in Waverly's office, nursing a pounding headache and   
  
badly bruised ego. Through the ringing in his ears, he listened to Waverly's scolding about not reporting  
  
the entire baby incident in the beginning , notwithstanding the compromise to he partner's reputation.  
  
They had been set upon in the park. Illya had misjudged himeself to be the target, wasting  
  
precious moments. But Clemency never hesitated. With a wild ferocity, she swung away, and pulled a  
  
pistol from under her skirt. ,gettting off three shots. Her aim was hampered because she refused to let go of   
  
the baby.   
  
They knocked her flat, but she clung to Gabriel, biting and kicking and clawing until the leader   
  
shrugged, and three men in black shoved both of them in to a cramped blue volksvagen and sped away.  
  
Illya rose shakily and reluctantly pulled out his communicator.  
  
Now his head throbbed but he forced himself to concentrate on solutions, not self-recriminations.   
  
He understood now why the network discouraged family ties in Section 2: enforcement agents were more  
  
effective when they have nothing to lose.   
  
The door slid open and he expected the little redhead with some Tylenol. In walked two agents   
  
flanking a very dishevled nanny.  
  
"Clemency!" Illya leapt from his chair , grabbed her,then pulled back for a quick inspection. His  
  
lungs ached, as if he had been holding his breath for 11 hours. "Where's Gabriel?"  
  
"Downstairs--OK, I think. You?"  
  
"Just dandy. What happened?"  
  
"They took us to a lab somewhere. When I wouldnst let go of Gabriel, the Doctor agreed to let me   
  
hohld him while he drew blood. Then it was just a long time in a stuffy waiting room. really old magazines,   
  
dreadful coffee, armed guards. Dr Frankenstein came back and apologized for the inconvenience. He said  
  
Gabriel's DNA did not match Solo's, so there was no need to detain us. They drove us back to Manhattan   
  
and dropped us off a couple of blocks from the park. Then your guys spotted us. So I guess your friend's   
  
off the hook and you're not a godfather after all, " she concluded.  
  
"Yeah, off the hook," Illya echoed. Playing house had come to en end, but the interlude had chan-  
  
ged him forever. He had tasted the sweetness of family life and it had awakened in him a desire that he  
  
had never suspected existed. He would remain in Section 2, but now he would fight for more than principle.   
  
And he would yern for the sacrifice he knew he would have to make.  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
"So, this is the little chap who's caused all the commotion," Alexander Waverly picked up the   
  
baby with grandfatherly practice. "Have our people been helpful, Miss Carmichael?"  
  
"Oh, yes, Sir. Medical has pronounced us both fit, and the legal staff is paving the way for   
  
Gabriel's adoption. There's this nice couple in Section 6..."  
  
Illya's eyes had not left her. "Clemency, one thing--"  
  
"The pistol bothers you? I told you, "full-service" nanny. Includes anti-kidnapping classes."  
  
"Are you certain you're both all right?" The uncharacteristic tenderness in Kuryakin's voice gave   
  
Waverly pause.  
  
She nodded. "Packed, in fact. I'm having twins in Boston."  
  
It was difficult to say goodbye in front of Waverly. But if they had been alone, it might have been   
  
impossible. And the Old Man knew that, too.   
  
Illya cupped his hands around both of hers, and drew them to his lips. "I hope someday you wheel   
  
your own buggy."  
  
Clemencey returned his intent gaze with a wistful smile. "And I hope that --someday--you jump  
  
off that cliff."  
  
And she was gone.  
  
Napoleon Solo passed her in the hall, made a half-turn on his heel to evaluate her, out of habit.   
  
"Sir, I'm here to debrief you ofn--well, Illya, a welcome home committee--I'm touched. New Grandchild, Sir ?  
  
Looks just like you."  
  
"Um..Mr Kuryakin can fill you in later, Mr. Solo. "  
  
  
"I'll drop by after dinner, Napoleon. I had to vacate your premises abruptly, and I left some stuff  
  
behind. I need my teddy bear."  
  
  
Illya left the intrigued look on his partner's face. He returned to his office and ordered Chinese.  
  
  
  
  
finis  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
